Protecting You
by AwkwardedOut
Summary: Kyoko was the delicate flower that got locked away; secure from the big, bad world that would bruise her petals and snap her stem. But when a flower isn't allowed to soak its roots and bask in the sun, it begins to lose its luster, and it's only a matter of time before it withers and dies.


Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Protecting You:**

"Please," she said, voice pleading. "Just for the day."

Tsuna looked into Kyoko's imploring eyes, and remembered that this was the girl for whom he would have gladly done anything, just to see that warm smile and hear that sweet voice. Once upon a time.

Now, he rarely saw her winning smile, and her voice was only sweet to the birds that frequented the space outside her window. Nothing from the outside could get in, of course; and more importantly, she couldn't get out—but wait. Wasn't it the former that was most important?

He couldn't remember anymore.

The tenth time she asked, he could see in her open expression that she still held some hope of being allowed a day in the outside world, a day in the dangerous world that would grab her in its jaws and rip her limb from limb with its pointed teeth.

Couldn't she see that he was trying his best to protect her? Why did she insist on tempting fate?

Those who were deeply entrenched in the Mafia world led constantly hazardous lives that endangered all whom they held dear; this was especially true for the people closest to them, and there was no greater prize to the enemy than the wife of the Vongola Boss.

Even with his Guardians constantly watching over her, the Vongola's enemies were nothing if not bold. There was no shortage of kidnapping and assassination attempts made on Kyoko. To have her would be to hold power over the leader of one of the most powerful Mafia Families; to kill her would be to exact revenge against the Vongola for whatever crimes—perceived or otherwise—they had committed.

With each attempt, Tsuna became ever more protective of his wife, ever more incapable of letting her out of his sight—until one day, he locked her away from the world.

He had thought that would be enough to keep her out of harm's reach.

However, when even the highest tower didn't stop his enemies from pursuing her, he took it one step further, ensconcing her deep underground, in the belly of his compound. The passages leading to her quarters were labyrinthine, layered with traps designed to maim and kill those careless enough to trigger them. The walls that enclosed her were constructed from a special material with flame-resistant properties, strengthened by lightning flames and self-repairing from an infusion of cloud flames.

There, only he had access; not even his closest and most trusted friends could enter, for there was always the chance that one could be a deception wrapped in mist.

There, she was secure from the world, because he needed her to remain safe and protected—and _with him_.

The twentieth time she asked, he had changed the subject, because the answer she sought was not one he could give. He thought, by now, she should have known that too.

"You're beautiful," he told her, as he had so many times before.

"Like a flower," she finished. "A beautiful, fragile flower." Her voice was laced with bitterness as she completed his thought.

He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes for fear of the reproach he might see there.

All around them were representatives of the outside world; since she was unable to go into nature, he had brought nature to her. However, they had since fallen into various stages of deterioration, for this sanctuary that he had created for her was a place where the sun never reached. Already the flowers' petals were gray and withered, the stems snapped from the weight of their burden; while brittle bark had fallen from the trunks of the small potted trees to cover the ground, branches littered alongside. Rather than rejuvenation, they only added more gloom to the already despondent air.

Studying her profile, he remembered when her hair had shone golden in the sunlight that bathed the tower. The artificial light of her new accommodations was harsher on her features, the grim lines it produced on her face leaving no trace of the girl he had known.

He wanted to see her as the person she had been, not the person she was becoming—already was. He made a mental note to have it switched out for something that cast a softer glow, but deep down, he knew that it wasn't just the light.

Over the months, her skin had become paler the longer she was locked away in this place, unable to bask in the daylight, to live in the world that it represented; lively brown eyes had gradually dulled as loathing absorbed their radiance; gentle smiles were replaced with contortions of unbridled bitterness and scorn.

Despair clung to her like a terminal illness, eating away at everything that had once defined Sasagawa Kyoko like acid through steel. A shadow of her former self, she was slowly deteriorating as the despair hollowed her out from the inside, threatening to consume her until there was nothing left.

No, it wasn't the light.

The thirtieth time, he asked a question of his own, "Do you still love me?" _Yes. Say yes._

It had been one of the happiest moments of his life when she had said _yes_ to another question—different in expression, but identical in meaning. That one word had turned his world on its axis, re-routing its orbit until she was at its center. That day at the church, their friends and family cheering from behind, he had hardly believed the love in her eyes.

When he looked into them now, he only saw the slow process of that love corrupted by hatred swimming in their depths.

This time, she answered his question with a deprecating smile—a mockery of the one in his memory. "You're still so naïve."

He couldn't bring himself to disagree.

The fortieth time she asked, he replied, "If I let you out, you would never come back." And it wouldn't be because the world had finally succeeded in snatching her away.

She laughed, long and hard, but the sound retained none of the serenity and compassion he had loved. This laughter was tainted with something dark and ugly that corroded the purity she once possessed—the acid had done its job well. It left him with no illusions as to her answer.


End file.
